RPlog:Homeward Bound
Fifteen days since the raid... five since the Republic and Imperial campsites became one, banded together for survival. It's proven to be a good choice - the larger group has had a much easier time gathering food and keeping predators at bay, and between the two groups, enough expertise has been assembled to determine which plants have medicinal qualities, making the lives of the injured a little more comfortable as the wait for rescue continues. Since the crash, a small group of Republic survivors have been scrounging through recovered debris to try and boost the signal on one of their emergency beacons. Last night, they succeeded - but the device will take enough power to run that they can't simply leave it running and hope for the best. After leaving it with those felt to be "in-charge" - Wrista, Vengan, Raxis and Krieg - they returned to their tinkering, trying to work out a better power source for their jury-rigged device. In the meantime, a few scavenged comm units have been left with the powers that be, just in case they, too, want something to focus on other than the continued passing of days, and the way the weather has begun to grow colder as their area of Dathomir enters its winter months. To say the Marines are in high spirits would be a bit of a misnomer. Marines are always in high spirits. But they're probably a bit more comfortable than most of the other strandees planetside- the survival training and harsh discipline of their day to day lives has made them far more at ease in these jungle settings than the other personnel. Most of them have taken to modifying their clothing for the climate and terrain, creating rough ghille suits and digging out almost invisible hasty sleeping shelters in the nearby terrain. Most of them have small animals on spits near their tents and by and large, they seem to be enjoying what is amounting to an extended camping trip for them. Only the presence of the Imperials and the weapons the Marines keep near paranoid fingers belies this image. Vengan is hunkered in a low squat a short distance from the latrine/cleaning area. He's got a small mammal of some sort staked in place and is skinning it with practiced ease, spearing the slabs of meat on wooden pungee stakes. The Marine lieutenant maintains an adamantly smooth chin despite the rough terrain, but his face is streaked here and there with dirt to help his bronze skin blend in more efficiently, and his uniform is covered in leaves and foliage that makes him almost invisible when he holds still in the brush. Most of the other Marines are either around the area, hunting with their knives and primitive bows, or conducting patrols around the camp. That very same expected lack of sustained power is why Wrista had also ordered that sensor equipment be scavenged from the wrecked fighters and escape pods. The power available for those systems weren't very long-lived, either, but it was sufficient, with the lower power demands of passive sensors, to flick the sensors on once and hour or so to do a scan for orbital traffic within sight of the patch of ground they were all camped on, and that would likely be enough. Wrista, despite being one of the persons nominally in charge of the camp, and having brokered the truce(of sorts) with the Imperials, had perhaps surprisingly spent hardly any time in the camp, instead ranging out either with teams or on her own-- usually hunting or keeping the larger predators away from the camp. On this occasion, it appears to have been the latter of the two, since she returns to camp without another round of fresh food despite the short, curved sword carried over her shoulder being visibly blooded. She makes her way over to where Vengan's sitting, grunting a vague, slightly irritable noise in greeting as she flops back down. Sitting near the edge of the camp with her rifle propped on her knees, Leyanne stares broodingly out into the jungle. Her perch is within earshot of Vengan and Wrista, though she spares them little notice as her eyes scan the shivering foliage before her. "I'm so sick of those darn perboly-things." Muttering to herself she leans forward, propping her elbows on her knees, her weapon cradled in her hands at the ready. The week had been interesting, and as much as he would love to be holding down the fort all the time he too was out on different ventures, seeking all of their pilots and troopers. In the end a sort of peace had formed between the two camps, strict orders were being followed to the letter. As for the opposing commanders and those he shot down, the talks were skirted, however interested that could be. Currently though he was in the camp walking by himself, a blaster at his side as he wears combat armor. With the wildlife of this planet it was better to stay protected rather than be surprised. Standing at the center of the camp with arms crossed across his chest he watches the activity of the camp, knowing soon his own forces would be on their way. Vengan holds up something small and wiggly, eying it in front of his nose before looking at Wrista and proffering it to the Marine. "Think this is a kidney or a liver?" he asks, looking from the Twi'lek to the meat and back again. Absently, he tosses it on the hot piece of hull plating on the fire next to him. It's simmering right along, the same soup stock he's been cooking with for the last week. "Can't be worse than that jubba root we had the other day. Tasted like paper." The Marine sets his jaw and the muscles in his forearm twine as he rends flesh from bone, the knife scraping hollowly along the animal's femur. The meat peels off in a long strip, jiggling like only raw meat can. Vengan's arms are bloody from the elbow down, but the Marine doesn't seem to mind. He sets it on the curing rack next to him, to be salted and dried for later consumption. The Marine lieutenant flashes a short, tight grin at Leyanne. "Beats colla root. I was on an FTX in a grassland area, and that's all we had. It's perfectly edible, lots of nutrients and even some protein, but it tastes like radiator coolant." One of the younger Republic FleetOps technicians rescued in the last few days during Lance Corbet's scouting sweeps, a wroonian woman, comes bounding across the camp with a few small power cells in-hand. As intent as she is on reaching Vengan and those with him, she's observant enough to catch herself short of plowing into Krieg, giving a squawk of dismay as she skids to a halt. She peers up at the Imperial, clearly nervous, and awkwardly points past him with one of the power cells. "Sorry! Sorry. I was, uh..." She hesitates, shooting a look towards the Republic marines a little ways away, then back up at Krieg. "Stomach, Vengan," the twi'lek Marine replies with a short glance, rummaging in her thigh pocket and withdrawing what looks not unlike a stimpack, only in more of a syringe configuration. Wrista snorts indelicately, clearly temporarily bereft of the enthusiasm she's had for most of this whole affair. "Should be so lucky. I'd kill for a root with decent starch content. Ran out of sugarsticks a week ago." She pulls the cover off of the needle with her teeth, and stabs her leg with it, clearly having enough practice to know right where it needs to go, and depresses the injection button. Not even flinching Krieg hears the woman approach and quickly stop short. He doesn't even really react, but rather turns his head ever so slightly to see her, his gaze making most just leave him alone or become inspired, depending on the sort of personality and training one had. He hears the excuses but doesn't say anything in reply but rather leaves her be, turning back to look at the camp. Perhaps he was filling the role of an arbiter, or perhaps it was his watchful gaze keeping things in line. Whatever it was, it should become readily apparent to the woman that he wasn't going to do anything and she was free to go. "Oh it's not eating them I'm tired of; it's them being the only thing I see besides Troopers while I'm on watch." Leyanne sighs tiredly, glancing over at the unknown organ now sizzling on the warmed hull piece. Watching Wrista curiously, her eyes widen in surprise as she injects something into her leg. Turning back to the shifting jungle, she glances quickly over her shoulder at the squawking Wroonian. Craning her neck to watch the confrontation, she quirks an eyebrow curiously. The young tech peers up at Krieg a moment longer, her expression shifting from nervous to puzzled to suspicious in rather short order. Still, she takes his silence as a gift not to be discarded, murmuring a final "'scuze me," before she steps around him and continues over to the group of marines at a brisk jog. Seeing Leyanne looking her way, she shifts her cargo into one arm so that she can awkwardly shrug and twirl one finger next to her head in the universal sign for 'crazy', making a bit of a face. "Here, try this," Vengan says, reaching behind him and producing a bundle of shredded roots. "They're some kind of tuber. Not sure if they're toxic or not, but you're welcome to them." He tosses the small bundle to Wrista and finishes stripping the femur. The Marine starts in on the tendons to separate the leg from the carcass, arm flexing as he digs the knife blade deep between pelvis and bone to snap and cut at the tendons. He looks up at the momentary confrontation, then back down at his work. There's a sickening crack of tendons ripping as the Marine starts wrestling the bone away from the carcass. Seeing a few of the troopers messing around and another few starting to pick a fight with a few of the 'other side'. It wasn't long before his gaze upon the men was recognized, in both of the groups. The stare was one that could piece even cold rock, and the troopers understood all too well what was being conveyed to them. Backing off slowing the troopers fall back, but Krieg orders, "Get your gear, clean it again, and have our camp ready to move at a moment's notice." The order had been given many times over the past few days, and there were going to be some serious discipline coming down when they got back to the force. As for his rebel counterparts he watches them converse, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the Stormtroopers only reason for not breaking out and killing them all was due to Krieg alone. Leyanne snorts with derisive laughter at the reaction of the Wroonian, the dirty, tried marine turning back to watch the jungle with a sigh. Reaching into a pocket on the pack she is leaning on, she fishes out her canteen. Opening the cap, she sniffs tentatively before taking a sip. Wrinkling her nose she pulls the canteen away from her face, holding it at arms length. "Ugh, my water has gone stale." The tech doesn't miss seeing Wrista's injection, but doesn't comment. Not yet, anyway. Not her place, and besides, Wrista is a marine - tiny though she is, she could probably break the tech in half with her pinkie finger. Once she's come to a stop near the marines' campfires, she quietly clears her throat, trying to restrain a grin in response to Leyanne's snorted laughter. "Lieutenants?" the tech says carefully, shifting her armful of power cells. "I brought you some juice." Wrista re-caps her syringe, and frowns pensively at it before she tucks the empty back into her pocket, along with the other empties. Well, that's the last of her supply of that. But whatever the stuff is, it seems to work fast, as she's already sounding less irritable, even as she eyes the roots Vengan offers. "Not toxic," she confirms, recognizing the variety. "But also not nearly loaded enough for me, unfortunately. I'd burn too many calories digesting it." Her head comes up at the tech's words, perking. "Juice! Excellent, I--" she pauses, seeing that the tech is carrying power cells, and not a drink of fruity goodness, and sighs. "Right... ah... to the transmitter, then. Excellent work." She waves the tech onward, pinching the bridge of her nose. The tech offers Wrista a sheepish smile at the brightening and dimming of her expression. "I think Untel found some pears this morning, if you wanted to juice one," she notes, coming forward to carefully set the power cells down near the assortment of comm and sensor parts around the transmitter. "These should be compatible and give us some extra power for these things... I can rig them for extra range or extra time online. Not enough range to get out of the system, though," she admits ruefully, casting a wary look back in Krieg's direction. Rocking forward to stand while still holing her canteen and rifle, Leyanne hops up to refill her canteen. Drifting over toward the two Lieutenants, she waits to be acknowledged before speaking up. "I'm out of water purification tabs, are there any left?" Glancing over at the disturbance caused by the restless trooper she seems to consider something for a moment. "We're still on the buddy system for leaving camp right?" Wrista stands, and gestures for Leyanne to hand the canteen over. "For duration, then," she tells the tech. "Our ships are certain to at least stop as close as orbit, so range shouldn't be too needful. Does that have enough power to switch the transmitter over to an hourly burst?" To Leyanne, she asks, "You said it's just stale, right?" Meaning the water canteen. "It should, though we wouldn't be able to do it for more than a week, week and a half, tops," the tech replies, biting her lip thoughtfully as she gets started hooking the new power cells up to the transmitter. It's a simple enough procedure, and she seems well-versed - it won't take long. She peeks back at Leyanne as she works, flashing a nervous grin. "I know /I/ don't go anywhere without somebody bigger than me, but I dunno if that's standard," she replies, her tone wry. Handing the canteen over to Wrista, Leyanne nods slightly. "Yeah, really bitter kinda stale." Glancing at the tech hopefully, she waits to hear the answer, smiling hopefully at the statement. Nodding in response she shrugs. "The Troopers kinda creep me out a bit. I'm not a big fan of sharing camp..." She mutters softly to the wroonian. Wrista allows the pair to discuss the troopers without input from an officer. It's important these things get voiced now and then. So instead, she take her own mostly-empty canteen, and pours Leyanne's into it, and then back into Leyanne's. She does this a couple of times before it all ends up back in Leyanne's canteen, which the twi'lek passes back. "Stale water usually just needs to be aerated," she says, passing the canteen back. "See if that's any better to save the purification supplies." That said, she hands a half-package of tabs over from one of her pockets anyway, because Leyanne said she was out. "Speaking of the Imperials, I suppose I should go trade words. Go ahead and set the transmitter to signal hourly. Starting whenever you have it ready." "I don't mind sharing the camp... I just wish they were a little less..." The Wroonian tech gestures vaguely as she searches for the right word. "...segregated? It would be a lot less creepy if they mingled a little, you know?" She shrugs helplessly, then nods at Wrista. "I'm sure the Lance Corporal can help me if I need it," she smiles, sketching a salute before she looks back down to her work. "I think I've about got it, though... hey, could you run a sensor ping while I watch the connections, just to be sure everything is seated?" she asks Leyanne. Taking back her canteen, Leyanne holds it to her nose experimentally and takes a small sip. "That's better, thank you ma'am." Taking the tablets and stowing them in a pocket she shakes her head at the tech. "The separation doesn't bother me at all, in fact I wish it would stay more segregated. They can be more vulgar than most marines I know." Kneeling down next to the avian woman, she fiddles with the sensor controls, initiating the pings. With a yawn, Raxis emerges from a small lean to with a camouflaged tarp over it. Rubbing his dirty face, with nearly two weeks of growth, the newly bearded Lieutenant sips from his canteen and fishes an MRE from his pack, ripping the zipcord on it to begin its self heating process. Blinking slowly to erase the sleep from his mind like fingers tearing at cobwebs, his worst fears are realized again...he'd woken up next to stormtroopers. "Bloody sick of this..." Raxis says under his breath, stepping towards Leyanne and her company. Wrista splays her hands at the tech and Leyanne. "You know what they say. You can lead a bantha to water, but you can't make him step on Jawas along the way." She eyes the Imperials, then looks thoughtful. "On second thought... I think I'll go jump in the creek, and *then* talk to the Imperials. Bad enough to have the Marshal looking down his nose at me without watching him try to avoid the dirt, too," she snickers, turning on her heel to head down that way. "We should challenge them to mud wrestling; get this whole thing settled in no time." "They aren't /that/ bad, just... tetchy," the Wroonian tech chuckles, lying in the dirt so that she can keep a close eye on the transmitter's connections to the new power cells. As the ping goes off, she focuses on the connections and ignores the display. "War'll make anybody a little irritable. Weeeell... nothing is sparking... that's always good," she muses, smiling to herself and nodding in satisfaction. "It working up there?" she asks Leyanne, looking away to offer Raxis a friendly smile as he approaches. As the ping goes off, the sensor display before Leyanne lights up like a Christmas tree. Dozens of contacts are painted, though none of them are actually in orbit... yet. They look like they're on approach. The sensor is jury-rigged to the point where the contacts can't be identified - they could be anything. Peering closely at the display as the first ping is sent off, Leyanne's eyes just about bug out of her head. Turning to glance at the tech, she nods slowly, seem to not believe what she is seeing. "Multiple contacts!" Looking back down at the display, she does a bit of a double take. "This system isn't known for meteors is it?" "I-I don't think so, no," the tech responds, blinking rapidly and pushing herself up onto her knees to peer over Leyanne's shoulder at the display. "...that's a lot of contacts. Maybe it's malfunctioning," she says uncertainly. She looks to Raxis, pointing towards the creek. "Sir? Could you let Ipex know we've got something in orbit? Er.." She glances at the screen again, counting silently, then amends, "Fifteen somethings?" Still watching everything in the camp Krieg notices what the sensor folks are talking about. It's about that time that he drops his arms to his sides and walks over to where they are. He hovers, for lack of better terms, over the technicians and others nearby and listens, remaining deathly quiet. There is now the concern of one side or the other taking prisoners, and how they depart their situation without killing each other in the process. Not to mention the reality that one side helped the other to survive; it made going back to combat just that much more difficult. Many questions were waiting, and Krieg knew it. Whether or not the rebels did, that was another matter. None of them ranked much higher than a commander. "Will do..." Raxis replies, playing it cool. Keeping a straight face, Raxis stifles a yawn and carries his heating MRE over to Wrista. Sleep still heavy in his eyes, he steps up to her and mutters near her ear. "Act like I've told you a joke. We've got 15 pings, ours or theirs." Raxis chuckles, giving her a light shove. "How can you eat that garbage?" Glancing between the sensor display, the tech and Raxis, Leyanne has a hopeful glint in her eye. Catching sight of the hovering Imperial, the sparkle in her gaze fades quickly her free hand moving to hover over her rifle. Craning her neck to look for Wrista, suddenly looking nervous about the situation. Muttering sidelong to the tech she tries vainly to keep Krieg out of the loop. "Try to keep this under your cover eh? I don't want to have to start shooting people just yet..." Wrista flicks a finger, playfully, to splash Raxis slightly in the face with the cold, cold creek water when he delivers the news. "Excellent. Something tells me the Imperials would bring more than that, though. Tell them to fire up the transmitter and flag us down a passing fleet. If they're Imperial or Indie, well... we'll deal with that when it comes." A pause and she adds, "It figures. I should have jumped in the creek days ago. Instant I get a bath, here they are." The tech isn't oblivious to Krieg's hovering. She's just trying valiantly to ignore it, at least until Raxis gets back with the Lieutenant. "Breathe. It may not even be a fleet," the tech whispers to Leyanne, peering intently at the display. "Could be malfunctioning, could be debris..." As he was close to the folks in front of the scanners Krieg could tell that they were saying something, and judging by their reaction to what they saw on the screen and how they were tensing up with him around it didn't take that much thought to figure out there was something there he wasn't to see. In a low voice, both in tone and inflection he remarks, "I do think it is in the best interest of all here that the data on this screen is shared among all. We have lived this long without a firefight." In some regards he was fulfilling the good commander, but he knew it was part of him starting to voice his concerns of their overall departure. Reassurances were required. "Well we had to get you in the creek somehow, Wrista." Raxis replies with a smile, turning on his heel to step across the camp, back towards Leyanne and the Wroonian tech. Giving Krieg a stiff nod in passing. Giving his technician a nudge with his boot and an upwards nod. "Fire it up; let them know we're here..." Raxis says openly, turning to look Krieg square in the eye as he sets his MRE on a nearby crate "...there's contacts up above. Who they belong to remains to be seen. Our technicians will be sending a beacon for their approach and then we get to see what happens from there." Raxis pauses, staring at Krieg. "Then we'll do this the gentlemanly way, right?" Vengan eyes Krieg and his complement from his kneeling position over the carcass, which he's still methodically stripping. The Marine twirls his vibroblade on his fingertips once, then gets to his feet and moves to the creek to start rinsing his hands of gore. Coincidentally, this places him nearer to his blaster rifle. The Marine lifts his chin, looking at another Marine, and says a few short words in an odd sort of glottal language. There's no visible increase in activity, but it's clear the Marines quickly know what's in the sky, and more than a few of them find themselves nearer to their rifles than they were beforehand. A few patrols start coming in out of the woods, too, though they wear their weapons slung across their backs. The tech lightly thumps a fist against Raxis' boot, but it's good-natured, and she nods up at him in response. "Yessir." While Raxis speaks with Krieg, she reaches around Leyanne to flick on the emergency beacon - and, after a moment's thought, disengages the sensor suite in favor of the comm unit. She glances to Leyanne, shrugging once, and waits. Wrista passes Vengan on her way up from the creek, sopping wet. She literally just jumped in fully clothed to wash up, and she's still streaming water from her fatigues. She aimed herself on her way up to trade words with her fellow platoon leader, very silently, body language giving no context for those that can't hear. "Pack essentials. One way or another, we're leaving shortly. Either home, or back into the underbrush," she murmurs, before continuing on to join Krieg and Raxis at the comstation. Standing up quickly to let the tech in closer to the controls, Leyanne cradles her rifle in both hands. Watching Raxis' diplomatic approach to Krieg's words, she narrows her eyes slightly. Glancing around at the activity, she moves closer to her own packs, kneeling down next to the smaller of the two, fiddling with something out of sight. Avoiding the temptation to be overly sarcastic to an enemy that told him nothing more than what was readily obvious Krieg asks professionally, "I imagine you have worked out the details of what happens if the force is from one side or another. Reassurances need to be made; otherwise this will not be a smooth departure for either party. Our years of war doctrine do not permit either side to walk away. This situation here is... not optimal." As for the other questions, it would be a matter of time before it was going to be found out what the answer truly was. Suddenly, the comm unit crackles to life. <--emption/. I repeat, this is the NRMF /Redemption/. We have detected an emergency beacon on the planet's surface. If you're reading this, please respond. What is your status?> "Simple as this Krieg..." Raxis keeps his eyes locked on Krieg's as he listens to the communication. "...your war doctrine doesn't allow us to walk away, but very soon is going to come a situation that's going to give us an opportunity to do so. What you have to ask yourself whether or not the losses you'll sustain trying to subdue us are going to hold off the wildlife until that wagon comes. We're packing and leaving. You'll have the creek, perimeter, and the camp and we're going to fight this another day. Or you choose option B and hope these marines aren't a better shot than I am. I suggest the first option. We all go home for the moment this way." Raxis keeps his eyes locked on Krieg's and taps the technician with his boot. "Relay the coordinates. On my authority we're leaving without Imperials." Wrista turns up just in time to hear the com, and she points at it, looking relieved. "Thank the Force." She nod approvingly to Raxis, and adds, "Request delivery of one week's supplies for..." she looks at Krieg. "How many personnel are you up to, now?" The Marines continue to gather together, but then, inexplicably, they spread out again. A military eye, one very practiced in ground-based combat, would realize that they are creating a perimeter for both the ships to land in and, if the situation explodes, for them to defend themselves from. Garbed in ghille suits and hidden in the small trenches and holes they'd been digging for the last week, the Marines are clearly ensconcing themselves, and are clearly as ready for combat now as they were when the two forces first joined up. Even Vengan has donned his ghille suit and vanished into the treeline, finding a shadowy bush to take cover behind and wait out the ride, one way or another. Leyanne's head snaps up as the com crackles to life, a slow grin spreading across her face. Gathering her gear unobtrusively, she throws her packs on, quickly and disappears into the nearby foliage with barely a rustle of leaves. Making her way around the perimeter created by her fellows she drops down into a hole, vanishing from sight. Crossing his arms once again he replies to Wrista in his normal reassuring command voice. "42." He looks to them all and especially Raxis and says, "It is the sort of thinking and trusting a foe you have had for so many years to think that you can just take everything for granted and not have any precautions in place. I am rather surprised you will just let us leave and not take us all prisoner to do as you wish. I have many random acts of violence, independent foolishness, and at times a strange sense of heroics mixed with theatrics. Place youself in my shoes much like this Lieutenant Draelis you have and maybe you will understand. Your officer seems to be content with the same military options that would normally be considered in this situation from both sides." Subtly he was implying for a way that they all could save face leaving here, but it seemed the pilot's leadership skills were as rusty as his flying skills. Though that should probably be left unsaid and just in his thoughts as it has so far. "Yes sir." The tech can't really help it if she sounds relieved by Raxis' orders, and is quick to start tapping at the console, speaking into the comm as she does. "You have the most beautiful voice we've ever heard, /Redemption/," she says happily, grinning broadly into the mic. "We have two-dozen injuries and many more hungry people down here. I'm sending you our coordinates." She glances to Wrista, nodding once, then looks to Krieg expectantly for his response. "We're splitting the camp with some Imperials. It's peaceful and we've promised them we will take no prisoners on our way out, as well as some food to keep them comfortable until their own fleet comes for them. A week's supply for 42 people." Over the comm, the muffled sounds of celebration can be heard, the comm officer raising his voice to be heard over them. Aboard the bridge of the /Audacity/, Commander Jared Starwind eyes his comm officer as the conversation plays over the bridge, even as the ship enters the planet's atmosphere on its way to the received coordinates. A half-dozen shuttles flank it on its descent. "Mercy Flight, did you hear that?" he asks of the shuttles via the comm. "No shooting the bad guys. Pretend you like them." Cojac checks over the readouts from the pilot terminal and begins preparations for landing. "This is Mercy Two, understood Audacity. We're beginning our approach." He throttles down and presses for the landing gear to lower as the engines pitch changes from its former higher whine to a lower softer tone. Landing struts emerge from beneath the shuttle and exhaust ports on its underbelly open to father prevent descending too quickly. As the shuttle finally lands, he begins powering down certain systems before lowering the rear ramp, which is currently filled with food stocks and several relief/medical personnel. Wrista makes a flattened gesture, nodding at the tech, then looking back to Krieg. "Actually, it is like this, Marshall. We've made our preparations for a worst case. However, being nominally in command of this unfortunate incident, I also have to represent the Republic in dealing with this. Since you have shown an inclination to be reasonable, I have elected to treat you as such. Do not mistake this for a lack of preparation or foolish belief that you harbor us good graces. Take this instead as an indication that despite our differences, the Republic does not harbor you, personally, ill will. It isn't your fault that the Empire is the way it is. And despite our dislike of the principles you and your people defend, we seek to treat life with respect regardless of the mistakes we think it makes. But that does not mean we will not fight, nor that we will do so softly. It simply means that we do so when necessary. Pure force is not a virtue, Marshall. Knowing when to apply it, and when to wield mercy instead is. We will leave you in peace, with what should be more than sufficient supplies. We shall even pass a message to your fleet if you wish. But if you would rather this not end peacefully, then we will put you to graves now, and *then* we will leave," she explains in a quiet voice and then shrugs. "But that is your decision, ultimately. I would urge you to take what is offered, however. It has been quite hard enough on both of our forces, but the Republic stands ready, if it gets harder here at the end, as well." And as relaxed as she seems, no doubt that appearance is deceiving. Taking a step back, Raxis leans down and retrieves his pack. Slinging it over his shoulder clearly in a decided attempt that it's time to leave, he knows he's covered and takes a moment to glance at the landed transport. Resting his hand on his belt near his blaster, he walks backwards towards the shuttle, eyes scanning the amassed Imperials. Marines start coming out of the woodwork. Quite literally, as a matter of fact- stepping through brush and behind trees, and doing so in a highly military and practiced fashion. Blasters are at a low and ready position, butt to shoulder and hands on the pistol grip. The Marines move in tight groups of two or three, bounding and relaying past one another as they form a defensive perimeter around the shuttlecraft and wait for the rest of the Republic personnel to get aboard their salvation. With a grin forming on his face, on that conveys respect with a slight twist of perhaps being devious this one is all for his counterpart on this world. Out of all the things they say and do it seems that there is leadership that prevails amongst them. He gives her a nod and says respectfully, "Well Lieutenant, it seems that there are finally those willing to come to a discussion about such matters. It is a first for me to be able to discuss matters such as these with another, and it pleases me to be able to do so. As I gave my word I will so honor it." There's a pause for emphasis before he finally adds, "I thank you for the supplies, and I am certain our forces will arrive shortly. Until we meet again, I am afraid, Lieutenant." As the shuttles all touch down, the larger - and louder - form of the Marauder-class /Audacity/ drifts into the area behind them, landing struts extended. Once it has a large enough area of ground to settle onto, it does so, repulsors kicking up a good bit of wind and grass in the process. "Power down the engines and open her up," Starwind orders, peering out at the campsite from the bridge with a small smile before he turns to depart the bridge. "Mister Parsons, the bridge is yours. Keep in touch with the Group; let me know if the party gets bigger." As the shuttles open up, a steady stream of Republic medical personnel spill out of them, all but swarming into the campsite with gear in hand. The campsite itself, with the arrival of Republic vessels, is no longer quiet. Laughter and cheering break out amongst the Republic's survivors, people running about in a rush to gather their things and help move the injured into the various ships that have come to take them home. One person catches Starwind by the sleeve when they see him. "There may be other camps. Are you looking for them, too?" "We are now," Starwind promises, patting the young officer on the arm and lifting a hand to his earpiece to relay the information. The shuttles of course didn't come without friends to back them up, just in case. After all, it's not a very friendly place. With the /Audacity/ on the ground, the remaining pilots of Ghost Squadron are flying patrol around the LZ, Major Kyrin Sh'vani commanding. Further afield, swifter A-Wings are scanning for any further intruders, both on the ground and up in the skies. "Krayt, this is Ghost Leader. We currently have no aerial contacts at the present time. Continuing recon, out." "Telic click jaghom, quo kas na mak lok'tar o'gall," Vengan murmurs, directing a pair of Marines a little further afield. The Marines low-crawl through the brush, still in a small defensive cordon with eyes on the camp and away from the shuttle area. They're in a good defensive posture, waiting for the rest of the Republic personnel to get aboard ship before they themselves break cover and get aboard. Meanwhile, they keep an eye on the rest of Krieg's crew- likely not as tolerant or honorable as their commander seems to be. "Well Hell's Bells...it's the Ghosts..." Raxis can't help but smile to himself as he stops at the landing ramp of his exit shuttle and turn his eyes skyward. Krieg's words didn't bother him. He was a soldier, not a politician, and the massive number of casualties the NR had received lately left a need for as many good soldiers as they could get. Sliding his last, unsmoked thin cigar into his pocket and climbs up onto the ramp, disappearing inside. "1st Lieutenant L'ygr, Falcon Squadron." He tells the droid, taking names and ranks on entry, and then promptly moves to the next available seat to strap in. Grabbing a blaster from above him, Cojac slips it into the holster at his side after making one final check in the cockpit. Standing, he moves into the rear compartment where medical personnel have already begun filing down the ramp to see to the injured. He stops at the edge of the ramp and calls someone to him. "Gather a small team to begin unloading these foodstuffs," he orders, picking up a small crate and walking down the ramp himself to place it near where the others had previously made camp. "Where's the Imperial Commander?" Wrista flashes Krieg a brilliant grin, and cuts an elegant, short bow. "I shall look forward to it in whatever fashion it arrives, Lord Marshal," she says cheerily. "Look me up if you're ever in our neck of the woods in a peaceful fashion. I'll show you around." Then she brings a pair of fingers to her mouth and whistles shrilly, and for such a small thing... she can certainly belt it out like a drill sergeant. "Pack it up and move it out, wounded first! Don't forget those flight recorders and the other equipment-- we'll be leaving proper gear anyway!" Then she nods towards the Audacity, grinning at Krieg. "Care to come say hello? I told them they can't shoot you." Whether he opts to or not, she starts that way, heading for Commander Starwind, who she's never been quite so pleased to see. And squished into one of those A-Wing cockpits, a certain young wookiee which patches of his fur dyed an unfortunate shade of orange is on his first mission, scanning both the skies and the carpeted forest floor while he sticks close to his wingman. His words that he growls into his commlink are translated automatically, much to the relief of his squad mates that don't have such a luxury when face to face with the man on the floor. "Nothing from the forest floor yet. Looks like I'd feel right at home, though." Starwind falls into step next to Cojac, hands clasped loosely behind his back. "Somewhere," he replies intelligently, peering around the camp with attentively-narrowed eyes. He sees Wrista in-bound and brightens, lightly elbowing the young pilot in the ribs and nodding in her direction. "Think he's with her. C'mon." He moves to meet Wrista halfway, lips drawn back into a broad, thin smile, his eyes scanning Krieg's form as he approaches. The black combat armor that Krieg was wearing over his black flightsuit hid any indications of rank, not that he was wearing any at the time. However, it was known to just about everyone at the camp as to who he was and the status he held. The only ones probably unaware of the fact are the newcomers. As Wrista extends several invitations Krieg nods to her one last time, respectfully, "I am afraid I cannot. Farewell." It's formal, but polite at the same time. He watches the flurry of activity as he stands at the makeshift command area, his own troops starting to fill in the gaps of the camp as the NR pulls out, the supplies a welcome addition. He keeps his arms crossed over his chest, always keeping his endurance of fatigue and privation to himself. Wrista may be all smiles with Krieg, but a week's exposure to the martinet has done nothing to endear the fellow to the marine laying on a mossy hillock a short distance away. Vengan adjusts the sights on his A280, making sure it's zeroed in at the proper range. Other Marines are so well concealed that they're almost hard for -him- to find, and he watched them slink into place. He's quite certain that the Imperials have -something- planned up their sleeves, and in his mind, it's just a matter of readiness. His reticle bobs back and forth with Krieg's form between the lines for a moment before he shifts it minutely to one side, looking to a Stormtrooper who is gripping his rifle a bit too firmly for Vengan's ease. Wrista nods understanding and waves as Krieg departs, turning to shrug at Starwind as she crosses the rest of the gap. "Afternoon, Commander. Welcome to our summer chalet. Do you like the place? It’s been quite cozy, though I'm afraid the winter months approach and out vacation must regrettably lapse, so we're happy you could spare the time to give us a ride home." Peering around intently at the surrounding jungle, Leyanne is lying prone in a ditch nearby the landed shuttles, her rifle propped on her elbows. Hidden by the foliage, she watches the hobnobbing officers through narrowed eyes. Flicking the safety off her weapon, she shifts ever so slightly. Nearly twenty years with the SpecOps ground forces of the Alliance, now Republic, had been more than enough to give Starwind a sort of sixth sense about danger. A spider sense, if you will. The air is practically electric with the tense postures of the hidden marines on the perimeter and, he's sure, much of the Imperial side's personnel. As the evacuations continue and supplies are given to the remaining Imperial soldiers, Starwind offers Wrista a smile, drawing a loudspeaker disc out of his pocket. "Little muggy, Lieutenant, but I've been to worse. I'm glad to see you're in one piece. Just, ah..." He holds up a finger, smiling apologetically, then turns towards the rest of the camp and brings the loudspeaker disc up to broadcast his words to the camp as a whole: "/This is a peaceful evacuation/," he states firmly, "So, you know... collectively take a pill, all of you. Get out of the mud and help get the injured out. If anybody starts anything, Ghost Squadron will shoot them with really, really big guns. I promise." Chuckling to himself Krieg watches the NR marines all of a sudden do all this hiding and running in the woods after laughing without a care not minutes before. He would expect nothing less, though it was odd the sheer suddenness of it. Seeing this new man with much more rank than the previous commander he sums the man up quickly, impressed at his ability to command a situation he knew was well in hand. Krieg was expecting them to be cautious, but to aim so many rifles when he had his own people stood down - it was a little over the top. He leaves this new man which he was quickly earning respect for do his work. To his own people a few soldiers have come up to him and he instructs, "They are pulling out, let them go. We will face them another time, we have proven our point. Prepare to secure our perimeter from the local wildlife, and secure the new supplies after they have left. Weapons are /not/ to be used." The soldiers were still a bit confused, but obeyed every word. "Karking Fleet morons," Vengan hisses under his breath, eyes rolling in supplication as Starwind addresses the ensemble. The Marine Lieutenant shifts his hand in a signal from behind cover, indicating the five Marines near him should stay in their hidden positions, but also makes a clear gesture to hold-fire until the order is given. Marine discipline holds fast, and trigger fingers drift to lie alongside the trigger guard rather than atop the stud. Still, they stay ready, even as the Marines holding perimeter glance to Wrista for confirmation of the order, then in small groups start slinging their weapons to help pack the camp up. Only a few remain on alert- mostly NCOs, directing a few of the Marines to start helping- and they make frequent glance to Wrista for confirmation of these orders before they abandon their post entirely. "I assume Pelx stayed at home," Wrista muses, "since he hasn't shown up quietly behind me, yet." When the Marines look at her for confirmation, she nods, thumbing at the ships. "Let's just get the frack out of here, gentlemen. We've got turbolasers all over the place, X-Wings in the air, and nearly-loaded shuttles. It's time to go home." To emphasize this, she gives another sharp set of whistles, to indicate final extraction. To wit, shake a leg or walk back. Leyanne doesn't even twitch as Starwind addresses the whole camp. Her eyes narrow slightly as she chews on her lower lip, watching a few of her fellows move from their cover. Rolling her eyes as she hears the orders given to the Imperials present, her finger drifts up to the trigger guard on her rifle. Continuing her scanning of the perimeter, she seems to pick out a group of milling troopers. Hearing Wrista's whistles she glances toward Vengan, waiting for her orders directly from him. "He's holding down the fort," Starwind confirms, smiling at Wrista as he slides the disc back into his pocket. "He'll be very happy to see you. Might even crack a smile, if you pretend to limp a little," he muses. He thumbs towards the /Audacity/, nodding to the twi'lek. "Go get aboard, have someone bring you something proper to eat. And maybe some dry clothes. You and me, we're gonna chat on the way home." Feeling eyes on him, he glances towards Krieg, inspecting him for a moment before he flashes another broad, thin smile. Then he turns to make his way back towards the /Audacity/ himself, his smile widening as Wrista gives her whistled orders to the marines. As the last personnel get aboard, Vengan looks to Wrista, not moving until she gives him the signal. "Up up, move out," Vengan says in a low voice, nodding at Leyanne. The Marine surges smoothly to his feet and with a flat hand cutting through the air, orders his secondary team to get up. They move out of the bush all covered in green foliage and break into a swift tactical jog, cutting through the woods like a wind. They're aboard lickety split, the senior NCO slapping each one on the shoulder in turn as he counts heads and takes names. He stands half aboard, one foot on the ground as he waits for his Lieutenant. Vengan's the last to arrive, moving at a fast walk and with his weapon across his chest. "All up, Sergeant?" he asks the man, who nods once. "Yessir, we're good to go. You're it." Vengan nods once. "Roger. Get aboard and strap in." He turns in place to look at Wrista. "If you've got the camp all accounted for, we should have all the boys and girls on-board now." Only then does he turn to Starwind, nodding civilly at the officer. "Captain," he states politely. The Marine looks at Wrista, then jerks his head towards the shuttle. "Orright, let's get off this rock," he says with a grin, clambering aboard with the rest of his troops. Hopping up the follow Vengan toward the shuttle, Leyanne cradles her weapon in her hands. Shrugging her pack higher on her shoulders, she jogs with the rest of her unit, staying low and crouched out of habit. Pounding up the ramp, she gives the droid her name and service number, before moving further into the ship. Watching, Krieg remains still as he looks to the NR force pack up their things and make their way out of camp. There was a lot of work to be done still, and for the most part they had suffered very little through it all while remaining highly successful. Perhaps there were some commanders on the other side with some talent. It was getting old and boring to face the same enemy that provided no challenge. In the end he had plenty of time to think on a great deal of things, once again. Over Ghost Squadron's frequency comes a voice: "Lieutenant," Starwind replies to Vengan, smiling lopsidedly and inclining his head. "Good to see you again." It looks genuine, sounds genuine, and... well.. is just plain genuine. Once he's certain the shuttles are all packed, he takes a few steps up the /Audacity/'s ramp, bringing a pair of fingers to his mouth to give a shrill whistle. "Time to go!" he bellows, his voice having /no/ problem carrying without the assistance of the loudspeaker disc. Peculiar in a Fleet officer. Mercy 4 and Mercy 6 close up to depart for the /Redemption/, full of injured personnel and a few marines. The others begin to power up as the last of their crews return. Wrista troops up into the Audacity, nodding at Vengan as he arrives, and at Starwind on the food issue. "I'll be in the Galley," she says shortly, and turns on her heel to go raid the food stores without ceremony, though she does clap her hands at the other survivors in the ship's bay as she does so. "Congratulations, everyone. You're going home. Couldn't be prouder of every one of you. See everyone at the awards banquet." Because she knows there's going to be one. That's the way the Republic is. Cojac turns on a heel and casually saunters back to the shuttle, climbing up the ramp as the last vestiges of the foodstuffs are carted off by Imperial volunteers. He climbs the ramp and stands just inside the rear compartment, turning to have one last look out at the forested area still occupied by Imperial troops. Without hesitation, he turns back to head inside the shuttle, making his way for the cockpit as he positions himself into the seat. He quickly straps up and dons his flight helmet on his head. "This is Mercy Two, we're loaded and ready for departure," he informs over the comm before powering up the engines. It takes a few moments for everything to power up completely, but once done, he begins lifting the shuttle off the ground and retracts the landing struts, aiming the shuttle for the upper atmosphere. "This is Mercy Two, we're free and clear." "Redemption, acknowledged," Kyrin replies to the larger ship. "Sandman, Phoenix. You heard that?" With a quick series of commands, Kesander's flight within the squadron is ordered to take up positions to support the shuttles heading in that direction, and a suitable number of their A-Wing recon geeks is allocated to shift their flight patterns to accommodate the new intel. As Mercy Two departs, the remaining three shuttles close up to follow suit... and, once the bridge has word that everyone is aboard, so does the /Audacity/. On their way back to the flight group, a separate flight of six shuttles cruise past on their way to the second located camp, their landing lights giving a brief flash in silent salute to their counterparts.